Choices
by uptightcrankyshadownet
Summary: "Crime or me." Dylan/Alma, post-NYSM. M for sexual content.


He's not sure whether to believe it when she gives him an ultimatum.

He tells her of his plans, assumes she'll be proud. The next show's scheme is grand, dazzling, glorious, and he's confident that FBI will never figure out how they've accomplished breaking into one of the most secure facilities in the world. It's a work of art.

And she doesn't see it that way. When he finishes his speech, her eyes are dark with anger and disdain, her fingers are clenched into a fist and her teeth are gritted, rage and disapproval obvious in her entirety. He's stunned for a moment, unable to comprehend why she's furious. She's always been impressed and blown away by the Horsemen, after all, so why this, now?

"Your revenge has been taken, hasn't it, Rhodes?"

He blinks, confused. _What's the link? _"Yes."

Alma sweeps her long blonde hair over one shoulder, a tell of her frustration. "So why are you doing this?"

He's at a loss for words, can't comprehend. "What are you talking about? I thought you'd be proud."

"You thought I'd be proud? Do you think you know everything about me just because you've spent your nights with me in my bed? I'm still an Interpol officer, Dylan." She snaps tersely, eyes blazing. "It's my _job _to arrest crimedoers and make sure they end up where they deserve to be. You know that I let you run, let you go because I _believed _that Lionel Shrike's son deserved his vengeance against the people who left him fatherless. But what I _don't _believe in is letting you harm those who don't deserve it. You're going to throw an entire country into panic and another into chaos if you do this. I won't let you." Her jaw is set, wired with wrath, and he knows she means it.

"The Eye-"

"I know that fucking up people's lives isn't a prerequisite to join or stay in the ranks of the Eye."

Dylan's eyes soften as she stares him down. "Alma, it's how I work. The Horsemen are internationally famous _because _of crime. Lawfulness doesn't have that charm that being rogues does. If crime keeps their career alive, then that's the path I'm walking."

The hurt in her eyes is evident, and strikes him harder than he thought it would.

"Fine," Her voice is cold fire and harsh steel and stabs him where she knows it hurts. "I'm not agreeing with this. If you go ahead with it I will do my utmost to get all five of you behind bars. I'm not asking you to pick between magic or me, Dylan. I know how much it means to you. All I'm saying is that it's crime or me. Vous choisissez. You choose."

She turns on her heel and disappears into a crowd, and Dylan is left dumbfounded.

To be honest, Alma doesn't expect to see him again.

And then one day, she does.

She returns home to the door ajar and the familiar figure perched on her ottoman as if he owns the house. His eyes bore into hers, and against her will, she smiles.

Dylan thrusts a flyer into her hands when she gets closer, and she thumbs through it, the pride apparent in her changing expression when she reads of a mega-illusion that is, after all, above board.

"Tickets sold out within half an hour," The fifth Horseman murmurs quietly and she feels his warm breath on her cheek. "You were right. We don't need crime to show the world the brilliance of the Horsemen." He pauses, then cups her face in his hands and gazes at her, features shadowed in the half-light. "It doesn't matter whether you asked me to pick between magic or you, or whether you asked me to pick between crime or you." His lips meet hers, one hand threads itself into her hair and the other comes to rest on the curve of her hip. "I will always choose you."

This time when his hands find their way beyond the waistband of her jeans and his fingers slip the straps of her tank top off her shoulders, he begins to learn. He burns the memory of her soft moans and ragged gasps into his mind, explores every inch of the beautiful canvas of her slender frame with lips and teeth and tongue, lets his fingers sweep one long path down her body and between her legs, relishes the feel of hands, of mouth, of her around him. He listens to the beating of her heart and feels her breathing patterns change when he thrusts into her in one, slow motion, and he immerses herself in how she sings his name, with that perfect French accent, when she comes, reduced to boneless shudders.

They talk, after, before they fall asleep in each other's arms.

"This is the way you learn best, Mr Rhodes?" Her voice is light, teasing, and he laughs. "You can't say I'm a bad student."

"When you said that just now... did you really mean it?" In a flash she's serious, doubtful, maybe almost vulnerable, fragile- the side of her that she saves for Dylan, the sides beyond her strength and her pluckiness. "When you said you'd always choose me?"

He kisses her forehead and hugs her close, breathing in the scent that marks her as uniquely _her. _"Forever."


End file.
